


Fallen

by Vexie



Series: Freedom [1]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/M, Flashbacks, Nostalgia, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, aasmir yasha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-07-02 02:38:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15787251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vexie/pseuds/Vexie
Summary: "I could recite facts about the Aasmir people. I could write you an essay about their culture and their place in our history. I could do that—I’ve done that and it’s all right here,” Caleb taps his temple, “I could sing you songs they wrote in Celestial but you definitely don’t want me to do that. But I could. I remember. Anything you want to know, and I’ve got it right here. All you ever need to do is ask. But that’s not what I mean.”“Then, what do you mean?” Yasha asks, frowning.“I understand why your wings look like that and why you don’t want to talk about it. You see, I know what’s it’s like to fall from grace,” Caleb says.





	Fallen

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to my husband, the purveyor of the Rare Pair, who planted this seed in my brain. 
> 
> Give it a chance, hey?
> 
> ***Posted in a hurry originally, edits to fix some minor errors. I was stuck on the editing for ONE PART of this for like two weeks so I got super excited when I was able to finish editing and just wanted to post, even though I really didn't have time yesterday ***

Even in the heat of battle, Caleb stops and stares as Yasha lets out a rage-filled scream. Her features darkening as if suddenly overcast by a great shadow, the firelight and flashes of lightning emphasizing the change. Even the white tips of her hair turn raven-black. Long, skeletal wings erupt from her shoulder blades, haunting in their beauty. Overhead, thunder cracks, echoing into the night. Yasha roars, echoing the thunder as she launches into her attack. She fights with a new fury, a new speed. She is breathtaking, both beautiful and terrifying at the same time. _Sublime,_ is the word.

Caleb watches in awe, the battle around him coming to a standstill for a moment. An Aasmir, he’s sure of it. He’s never met one before—especially not one like Yasha. He’s only ever read about people like her. The part of him that will always be a scholar is fascinated. His mind fills excitedly with questions. He can learn so much from her.

Shaking himself, Caleb returns to the task at hand. He’ll have time to ask Yasha questions after the battle, he assures himself. She likely would not calm enough to answer any questions until the danger has passed anyway.

 

After the battle, the Nein swarm Yasha. Caleb is not the only one with things he wants to ask her. She takes a step back, her visage returning to normal. As the others bombard her with questions, Caleb takes a moment to rehearse. It has been many years since he spoke this tongue. He licks his lips, then stands straight, taking a deep breath. He raises his head, reaching out a hand to get her attention.

“No, but really, _are_ you an angel?” he asks in clear Celestial, his voice cutting across everyone else. They all stop, dumbfounded, and stare at him. Yasha’s look of surprise brings a smile to his face, making all these eyes on him worth it. The accent comes back to him easily.

“Well…not exactly?” Yasha responds, staring at Caleb cautiously, eyes wide.

The shocked silence of the rest of the team is broken. All at once, questions start flying at Yasha and now at Caleb, too.

“What are you speaking?” Jester asks.

“It’s a secret, nerdy language,” Caleb says dismissively, the same way Eodwulf had when he’d caught Caleb and Astrid practicing Celestial together so many years ago. Caleb had suggested learning it under the guise of possible spell purposes. In truth, he had thought the language was romantic, and had passed Astrid many notes in that language. She had thought it was fun; neither of them paid any mind to Eodwulf’s goading. After all, he was less interested in old magics and more interested in battle magic. It was another time, then.

Caleb pulls himself from happier memories and focuses on what’s happening now. There are so many things he wants to know. If only there were more time and less prying ears. He studies Yasha’s face carefully and recognizes fear. As he gently talks to her in her home language, he realizes that this fear isn’t just of the Nein and their questions. She’s afraid of what she is. That is an old feeling. Maybe they’re not so different from one another.

“You’re going to have to tell them. Now or later,” he offers her his last bit of advice. They’re not going to forget this.

“I know. We’ll talk about it, I promise. I just…we’ll talk about it. I promise,” Yasha says, panic rising in her voice again at the thought. Her eyes beg him to believe her—to grant her this time. He wonders if she realizes that her hands are up in a defensive posture.

Caleb nods and steps back, letting her go. He watches as her shoulders droop as everyone moves to check on the horses and regather their camp. She avoids making eye contact with anyone but Mollymauk, keeping close to the tiefling. Molly allows it with his general good nature, giving her a knowing smile. She’s usually fairly quiet, and she’s even more withdrawn now. Caleb tries to find a moment to speak to her again, but she seems to avoid him more than anyone else. He tries to catch her alone after that, but she never seems to be far from anyone else. Not that this kind of thing has ever been Caleb’s area of expertise.

“ _Being shy gets you nowhere, Cay-cay,” Eowulf had teased. “Be more charismatic, you know? You’re polite enough, but you’re not charming. See, I’m charming. That’s why…people… like me better than you.”_

The next opportunity he gets, Caleb offers to take first watch. He turns to Yasha, meeting her eyes before she looks away, but as he takes the breath to ask her to join him, Jester interjects and volunteers to join him. Yasha takes second watch with Nott.

Caleb’s watch passes quietly for the most part. He calls forth Frumpkin to give him a bit of playtime with a bit of spare thread in one of his pockets. Just as Caleb starts relaxing, Jester slides closer to him.

“Sooo. I never got a chance to ask you before. How do you know Yasha’s language?” she asks. “Have you been to her homeland before?”

“I studied it a long time ago,” Caleb says stiffly, keeping with Yasha’s lie that it’s a Xhorhasian language. He does not take his eyes off of Frumpkin, doing everything in his power to make his body language unwelcoming. After so many years trying to keep away from people, he’s pretty good at it.

“Why?” Jester asks, not at all daunted. Her violet eyes never leave his face.

“I like learning things,” Caleb says. “It was something to learn.”

“That’s not a good answer. You learned it just because you could?” Jester wrinkles her nose. “Caleb, that’s so _boring_.”

“I am a very boring person,” Caleb says pointedly.

“Caleb,” Jester says, drawing out the first syllable of his name. “That’s not the only reason, is it?”

Caleb sighs and grants her a sliver of truth.

“It is also an old language. There is a great power in old things, so it seemed useful to know at the time.”

Jester seems more satisfied with this answer and lets that matter go.

“So what did you talk about with Yasha?” Jester continues, resting her chin on her hand.

Caleb freezes for a moment. Frumpkin paws impatiently at his hand until he moves the string again.

“I don’t see why I should share that with you,” Caleb says slowly.

“Because if you don’t tell me, I’ll have to make something up,” Jester warns in a sing-song voice.

“Do as you like,” Caleb says, shaking his head. Honestly, he couldn’t care less what she thinks about him. What Yasha is isn’t any of Jester’s business until Yasha decides it is. It isn’t his secret to tell.

“Okay,” Jester draws out the word, breaking it into several syllables. She pauses for a moment, waiting to see if Caleb will protest. When he doesn’t, she grins widely, beginning a little one-person play using a very bad Zemnian accent for Caleb and a breathy, high voice that doesn’t suit Yasha at all.

“I think you said “Oh, Yasha, you were very pretty with your big scary wings out.” And then Yasha said “Oh, Caleb, did you really think I was pretty?” and then _you_ said “Oh yes, in fact, I am now in love with you.“ and then _she_ said--”

“Okay, okay,” Caleb snaps, interrupting her. “As amusing as this little drama is, let’s not wake our friends, ja?” His voice is sharper than he means it to be, but he’s not as concerned as he probably should be. He looks over his shoulder to ensure no one else has woken.

Jester pouts at him for a moment, then lifts her chin off her hand to stare at him.

“I wasn’t very wrong, was I? You do think she’s pretty, don’t you?” she says slowly, leaning closer to him, eyes squinted suspiciously.

“No,” Caleb bites off the word. His ears burn like fire and he prays to any god listening that the firelight hides their redness. Not for the first time, he wishes he had gotten his mother’s darker complexion.

“So you think she’s ugly?” Jester gasps. “Caleb, how mean!”

“No, I did not say that,” Caleb says. Frumpkin, having now spent the past few minutes trying to get Caleb to continue playing with him, lets out a frustrated yowl. Caleb wants to echo the sentiment. He reaches out to stroke his cat and receives a playful wrestle instead.

“Then what _do_ you think of her?” Jester asks, grinning.

“Ow, Frumpkin, gently, please,” Caleb says as a sharp tooth pierces his glove. “I don’t know, she is a valued member of the party and a friend. She is a good fighter and I think we’re lucky to have her on our side.”

“But do you _like_ her?” Jester presses.

“Ja, I suppose?” Caleb gives up and sends Frumpkin back to Feywild.

“Like, you just regular like her or you _like her like her?_ ” Jester says.

“I…what? What does that even mean?” Caleb looks over at Jester, bewildered. He’s even more confused when she rolls her eyes at him.

“Come on Caleb, you’re hopeless,” she complains. “Don’t you know _anything?”_

“What? What?” Caleb holds out his hands helplessly.

 

Caleb has never been more relieved when his watch is over. Nott gives him a curious look when he quickly excuses himself to bed. Normally when they trade watches, he stays up to talk to her, at least for a little bit. But he’s talked enough for one night. He makes some excuse about being very tired and pats Nott on the head as he passes her. He only pauses briefly as Yasha meets his eyes, a cautious curiosity in their multicolored depths. He tries to give her a smile, but feels Jester watching them both carefully. His ears and cheeks start to flame as his self-consciousness kicks in. _Groß_.

Instead, Caleb gives Yasha as diginified a nod as he can manager before stiffly walking just outside the ring of light and laying down. He does his best to ignore the stares he feels from both Jester and Nott. He can only hope Jester retires to bed instead of sharing her theories with his goblin friend. That’s the last thing he needs. Especially if the two of them decide to talk to Yasha about it. As he falls asleep, Caleb decides it’s probably better that he doesn’t try to talk to Yasha about her background or anything for a while.

Just to be safe.

 

The festivities in Humperdook remind Caleb very much of being young with his friends. They had dragged him out on the town for dancing and drinks whenever they felt he was working too hard…which was often. Watching the fireworks, hearing the shouts of laughter and snatches of music, and smelling the alcohol makes him nostalgic. He can almost feel what it had been like…being on top of the world. He feels a small rush of joy he hasn’t felt in a very long time. They’d been accomplishing so much. Students looked up to them. The staff adored them. Their hometown burst with pride every time they came for a visit. For just a small while, Caleb had thought he was going to make a difference in the world. He would make sure his parents never had to go hungry again and that the town that supported the three of them would receive their support back tenfold. He was going to make things better. The feeling is almost tangible and leaves him feeling empty and aching instead. Will he ever be done grieving for the world he lost?

In retrospect, that’s probably why he agrees to the drinking game. The bookstore had been closed and he has nothing better to do. Drinking and forgetting seems like a better plan than drowning in memories. Besides, he used to be fairly good at this game, or so he remembers. Small, skinny Caleb had been Soltryce’s secret weapon against visiting students from other academies when they went out. He’s a little concerned about it halfway through but manages a win. He’s still got it!

The room spins, and the crowd gathered to watch the contest duplicates itself--no, triplicates itself. Caleb stumbles out of the way, giggling to himself at the thought of what it would be like if the Pumats Sol had been attendance. Count the Pumats, give it your best shot! Either way, the crowd becomes too much for him. There are too many people—real or not real—for his comfort.

He flops into a chair against the wall and takes several deep breaths. No one notices him back here—or no one cares. The next contenders are taking their seats, and everyone’s looking at them instead. Good, good. He’s already provided enough entertainment. Now he can just relax. He lays his head on the table, hoping it’ll stop swinging soon. This used to be a lot easier, or so he remembers.

Either moments or years later (he’s not sure which; time isn’t moving correctly right now, which he’s trying to study), a large, warm hand gently touches his back. He lifts his head off the table and blinks at a concerned white face with mismatched eyes. Yasha.

“Wie gehts?” he says, then blinks and tries again in common. “Sorry. Hello. What’s up?”

“Oh, uh, Kiri is asleep so I thought I’d come check on everyone down here. Are you all right?” Yasha asks.

“Oh I’m fine. Jester isn’t drinking so she’s going to take care of us, I think. Only five of us could play the game, and she wasn’t one of the five,” Caleb explains, though it takes him longer than he thinks it should to get the explanation out.

“That’s good,” Yasha says, scanning the room until she finds Jester, who is helping a very green Beau outside. “That’s, uh, yeah. Probably good.”

Caleb looks at Yasha sitting at the table with him. This is good, he thinks, but then he stops. Why is this good? He’d wanted Yasha to sit with him, but why? There was something—it was a while ago—but he wanted to talk to her by herself at some point. Why was it? Oh! He remembers. He leans over the table, effectively laying across it again.

“Hey,” he whispers, “did you know that you’re an angel?”

“Oh, I’m really, really not,” Yasha says, laughing.

“You are!” Caleb says. He looks around to make sure no one else is listening. “Aasmir, am I right? I am, aren’t I? I usually am right, you know. You are of divine folk.”

Yasha sits back, startled.

“Caleb,” she says quietly.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Caleb says, pulling himself off the table. “I won’t tell anyone unless you want me to.”

“I’m not—I’m not really _of_ anyone. I’ve never met anyone else…like me,” Yasha admits, looking down. “Not that I can remember, anyway.”

“It’s okay,” Caleb says again. “I understand what you are.”

Yasha looks up.

“What I…” she trails off. “You understand my people?”

Caleb waves at her, frustrated.

“Not—not Aasmir. Though I could tell you all about that, if you want me to. I could recite facts about that people. I could write you an essay about their culture and their place in our history. I could do that—I’ve done that and it’s all right here,” Caleb taps his temple, then winces a little as everything around him seems to wobble, but he presses on. “I could sing you songs they wrote in Celestial but you definitely don’t want me to do that. But I could. I remember. Anything you want to know, and I’ve got it right here. All you ever need to do is ask. But that’s not what I mean.”

“Then, what do you mean?” Yasha asks, frowning.

“I understand why your wings look like that and why you don’t want to talk about it. You see, you see…I know what’s it’s like to fall from grace,” Caleb says, feeling a rush as the thing he really wanted to say for weeks is finally brought into daylight. He looks at Yasha expectantly, but she looks confused.

“Fallen from grace,” she repeats.

“That’s what it is, right? That’s what you are?” Caleb frowns. Did he get this wrong? He tries to recall books from long ago, but the alcohol has muddled his brain too much.

“I—yes. I just never said it out loud before. I don’t remember anything about my life before I was…this,” Yasha says quietly. “I’ve never spoken about it to anyone.”

“You’re afraid. The night we all saw your Fallen form …you were afraid we’d all be afraid of you,” Caleb guesses.

“Why wouldn’t you be? I know what I look like. What I sound like. And it’s not an angel, I can tell you that,” Yashsa says, laughing bitterly.

Caleb waves at her, grimacing.

“None of us are angels, I’m learning,” he says. “We’ve all got our own shit going on, as Beau says.”

“That’s true, I suppose.” Yasha looks away.

“Hey, hey. I didn’t want—I don’t like this. The talking thing? I don’t do it well.” Caleb reaches across the table to touch her arm, alarmed. Is that the right thing to do? It’s what people do when they’re trying to be nice, right?

“Yes, I know,” Yasha says, granting him a small smile. Caleb returns it, feeling good about the exchange.

“I didn’t want to ask you about how you fell. That’s not—that’s your story to choose to tell,” Caleb says. “Not unless it’s something you want to tell me. Then It’s fine. But that’s not why I wanted to talk to you.”

“Then what do you want to know?” Yasha asks.

 _Everything_ , Caleb doesn’t say. Everything about her transformation, her form, her life. How she came to be in the circus. He likes talking to her—which is something for him. But he doesn’t say any of that.

“Nothing,” he says instead. “I just wanted to tell you that it doesn’t matter. I want you to know that. Whatever you did and whatever you are, I am not afraid of you and I never will be.”

Yasha’s eyes search his. He tries to keep them steady for her, but it isn’t easy. Alcohol sure hits harder than he remembers. Maybe it’s just because he’s not a kid anymore.

“I don’t like taking that form. It scares people. It scares _me._ It’s a dark form—the form of all of the things I did to—to fall, as you put it. It’s a demon form more than an angelic one,” Yasha says. “It’s strong, but at what cost?”

“I don’t think it’s scary,” Caleb offers. “It’s…terrible, yes, but it’s very beautiful as well.”

“No, it’s not,” Yasha insists.

The look on her face is disgusted. Caleb reaches across the table and takes both of her hands.

“Trust me,” he says, smiling at her. “You’re no demon, no monster. I see worse when I look in the mirror every single day. So I think I understand what you see when you see yourself in that form. But don’t think that you need to run because I know what you are. There’s no need to run from me. I’m not afraid and I won’t hurt you for what you did. I understand what you are because I’m fallen too, ja?”

“I…” Yasha’s eyes travel to their clasped hands. Caleb immediately lets them go without question.

“What could you have possibly done that’s as bad as whatever I did to get this curse?” Yasha asks. Her voice is playful, but for just a moment, it’s drowned out by the roar of flames and screams. Caleb shakes his head and the sounds vanish.

“That is not a story for tonight,” he says quietly, focusing on the sounds of the music and laughter in the bar.

“I’m sorry. That’s fair,” Yasha says.

“We’ve all got our own shit,” Caleb says wryly, giving Yasha a lopsided grin. She returns the smile and nods in agreement.

For several minutes, the two sit in silence. Caleb is surprised to find that the silence is comfortable. Warm. The room isn’t spinning anymore. It’s just warm and comfortable now. He thinks about what Jester said and smiles. Maybe she’s not so wrong. _Charming_ , he thinks.

“You know,” Caleb says, “even before I knew you were Aasmir, I might have mistaken you for an angel. You’re beautiful in all of your forms.”

Yasha freezes.

“Caleb…” she says hesitantly.

“Would you like to dance?” Caleb asks, holding out a hand. “It’s another stupid skill I have. Just for fun. Just for tonight.”

Yasha stands up quickly, taking a step back from the table.

“I’m sorry. I should go check on Kiri,” she says. “I left her alone upstairs.”

“No, no, stay. _I’m_ sorry,” Caleb says. “I shouldn’t have—”

“I just—I’m not the kind of person that—I can’t--” Yasha takes another nervous step backward, her eyes wide.

“No, neither am I. It’s all right. I’m sorry,” Caleb says again, voice quieter.

“It’s fine, but I really should go back upstairs,” Yasha says. All of her defenses are up, Caleb notes with regret.

“All right.” He gives her what he hopes is a friendly smile and switches to Celestial. “Goodnight.”

Yasha gives him a stiff nod, then turns to head back upstairs. It doesn’t feel good. It feels wrong. He did it all wrong. This isn’t the way to end this conversation. Caleb tries to stand, but his legs aren’t quite steady enough yet. He’s messed this up and he needs to fix it, or at least to make sure it’s not _too_ broken. Not this time.

“Yasha!” He calls out—not loud enough to get anyone else’s attention, but she hears him and turns back around, pausing with her hand on the banister. She looks somewhere behind her, presumably checking the room to see if she’s collected stares from his shout, then looks at him. He feels another twinge of guilt.

“Are we still friends?” Caleb asks wistfully. Somewhere in the past, Eodwulf laughs at him. Pathetic. But this…this is important to him.

There is a pause—too long of a pause, Caleb worries. But then Yasha’s face softens and she smiles at him, a genuine smile.

“Of course we are,” she says. “Be careful tonight, okay?”

Caleb nods, relaxing a little, as she turns and walks up the stairs. At least he hasn’t ruined that. He watches her go, then turns his attention back to the bar. He picks out the Nein and realizes with a start that Molly is watching him intently. He glances back toward the empty staircase, then returns his gaze to Molly. The tiefling raises his eyebrows. Caleb nods in a friendly manner, and so does Mollymauk, before turning to Fjord, who is singing a sea shanty of some sort. Something clicks into place in Caleb’s mind. Yasha hadn’t been checking the room. She’d been looking at _Molly_. Everything suddenly falls into a familiar rhythm.

“That’s what it is, isn’t it?” Caleb says to himself, sitting back in his chair. “It’s always the charismatic ones. But who can blame her, eh? Who can blame her?” After all, this isn’t the first time this has happened to him.

Caleb stays at his table. He orders a few more drinks and dives into them—more slowly this time, lost in nostalgia and thought until a slender form steps in front of him.

“Come dance with me, Caleb,” Jester says, holding out her hands. “Friends dance with each other.”

 _“Come dance. Just as friends. It’ll be fun, and then the others will see what a wonderful dancer and fine catch you are_.” Words spoken in gently teasing Celestial echo through a mind that won’t forget. Caleb smiles in spite of himself and allows Jester to pull him onto the floor.

He falls into the steps without too much trouble. He did always quite like waltzing. They’d all had lessons, of course. It was required—as future mages of the Empire, they would be expected to turn up at all sorts of stately events and represent Soltryce and their order. They had lessons on decorum for not only their Empire, but for visiting dignitaries. Not that any of that mattered to Caleb at the time. He had liked the lessons and enjoyed the balls. He’d been an old romantic once. This was just a good excuse to dress up and waltz with a beautiful girl. It was like the fairytales his mother had told him when he was just a lad.

The noisy gnomish pub melts away and for a few moments, the ceiling is tall and frescoed. Magical multicolored flames burn in floating chandeliers, rainbow light sparkling on the tall windows. The orchestra is playing a flawless waltz, though not a single person touches an instrument. They float on the stage, controlled by spells. Couples dances gracefully across the marble floor. Caleb is light-headed on champagne and the scent of the dark-haired woman in front of him. She laughs when he stumbles slightly, but there’s no cruelty there. Other people might be watching, but for once he doesn’t care. He made her laugh and that’s always worth it. He stares into her face, the light playing like stars in her green eyes. Her hair has been curled for the night, gently framing her face instead of being pulled tightly back like it is when they’re working. He spins her and watches her twirl gracefully, her sapphire dress shimmering. She executes the spin perfectly, returning to his arms light as a feather.

“You always were the better dancer, Astrid,” he says fondly.

“Astrid? Who is Astrid?” The voice is wrong. The Menagerie Coast accent shatters the illusion. Caleb blinks and the magical night from so long ago is gone. He stares down into wide violet eyes in the curious face of Jester. The return to reality is jarring. The room is dingy and harsh. Every minute error of the band is obvious in his ears. He stumbles away from Jester, gasping for air.

“Hey, let’s get you to bed, okay?” Jester says gently. She takes his arm. He doesn’t resist her; doesn’t say anything at all. He is done with this midnight reverie.

Caleb allows Jester to lead him upstairs. He lets her take off his coat and scarf and hang them gently over the back of the chair in the room. She helps him get his boots off and tucks him into bed. It’s been a long time since someone’s done that, too. It’s a bittersweet feeling; the comfort has sharp edges that prod into old, sacred memories he won’t allow himself to access anymore. He’s drifting in and out of consciousness, but he feels her hesitate, sitting on the edge of his mattress. Light fingers brush his hair from his face.

“Whoever Astrid is, I’m sure she loves you very much,” Jester says reassuringly, then kisses his forehead and leaves the room.

Caleb laughs to himself. No, she never did. She didn’t and Yasha won’t, either. That’s the way it is for him. But it’s all right. He’s not the kind of person who should get to be loved. Not after all he’s done in love’s name. They’re right to choose someone else. Someone more deserving. The heart knows truth, his mother used to say. And their hearts tell them to run far away from the monster he is. As well they should. But it doesn’t make it any easier.

Caleb’s chest is tight. He calls Frumpkin forth. The gentle purring of his familiar lets him breathe again. He opens his arms and Frumpkin curls into his chest, butting his chin gently with his warm, furry head.

“Stay with me tonight, please,” Caleb says out loud, knowing he doesn’t really need to. His faithful cat chirps a confirmation.

His sleep is filled with dreams of music and dancing and artificial starlight. Later, he can’t recall who it was he was dancing with. Sometimes it was Jester, just for fun as they had tonight. Sometimes it was Astrid as it was in his memories. Sometimes it was Yasha, wings unfurled in all their glory against the twinkling light. He remembers all three. He isn’t sure which one is true. Maybe it was all of them.

 

Morning brings pain. Caleb is acutely aware that he is still alive; he can feel every pump of his heart in his temples. Today will not be fun.

“You aren’t as young as you used to be,” Caleb groans to himself, sitting up. But, as it was when he was young, he still remembers every moment of the previous night with perfect clarity. Sometimes his keen mind is his own enemy. He recalls dancing with Jester and calling her Astrid. He recalls the drinking competition. He recalls talking to Yasha.

“Caleb, you fool,” he says to himself, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands. What made him think any of that was a good idea? Yasha is a strong, beautiful Aasmir fighter. And Caleb? A cowardly half-assed wizard. Even if he deserved that sort of relationship, it would never happen with someone like her. What would he even do in a relationship like that?

It’s at this moment that Nott bursts into his room.

“We’ve been robbed!” she shrieks. Caleb winces.

“Quieter, please,” he says. “We’ve been robbed? Of what? By whom?”

“We’re all missing our money!” Nott cries, the volume of her voice lowering only slightly in her panic. “Have you got yours?”

“I…” Caleb picks his coat up off his chair and reaches into the pocket where he keeps what money he has. The pocket is empty. “I don’t.”

Caleb follows Nott into the hall. His fellow revelers look about as bad as he feels. Well, except Beau, who looks a bit better off. Perhaps it’s something about her monk training. With much muttering they decide to discuss their options over breakfast. It appears that Yasha and Jester were not robbed.

As the Nein head down the stairs, Caleb hangs back. He catches Yasha by the sleeve.

“Ah, Yasha…a word?” he says, not looking her in the face.

“Go fuck yourself!” Kiri chirps, tugging on Yasha’s sleeve to come downstairs for breakfast.

“No, it’s okay Kiri. Go on with Jester. I’ll be right there,” Yasha says, smiling at the small Kenku.

Kiri makes questioning chirps, but starts hopping down the stairs after the rest of the party.

“She, uh, really got attached to me last night, I guess,” Yasha says. “I never got a chance to spend much time around children. It’s kind of fun.”

“Ja, I suppose so,” Caleb says. He sighs and rubs his head, changing the motion halfway through to run his hands through his hair.

“I just wanted to…to apologize,” he says voice faltering slightly.

“For what?” Yasha says, frowning.

“For asking you to dance. For making you uncomfortable. It was a foolish thing to do, and I am sorry for my behavior,” Caleb says, standing with his back straight, looking at the wall over Yasha’s right shoulder. For a moment, there’s only silence. Caleb allows his eyes to slide over and meet Yasha’s. He can’t read what’s behind them, but then, he rarely can.

“It was a strange night,” Yasha says finally. “You weren’t really yourself.”

Caleb shakes his head.

“Nevertheless,” he says. “I don’t want this to ruin what you and I have. I value our friendship.”

“It’s fine, really,” Yasha says, granting him a small smile. “I understand what alcohol does to people. I know to take what people say with a grain of salt. I was in the circus, after all.”

Caleb smiles back at her.

“Good. That’s…that’s good, then,” he says, relieved.

Yasha reaches up and toys with one of her white-tipped braids, looking down. Her lips form the beginning of a word, but she stops. Caleb waits, smile fading. She takes a breath and looks up again.

“Actually, I wanted to thank you for some of the things you said,” Yasha says. “About my…about my other form. It means a lot, actually.”

“Oh…I…” Caleb stumbles over his words.

“It’s not very often that someone sees the worst part of you and still wants you around. Believe me, I know,” Yasha smiles. “So, thank you for not being afraid and for still wanting to be friends, knowing what I am. Not everyone feels that way.”

Caleb nods slowly.

“Of course. You are…most welcome,” he says.

It’s something in the way she smiles, the way she bows her head as she turns to go downstairs. It feels like a goodbye. Caleb feels his heart sink in his chest. She’s going to run again, soon. And no matter what she says, it’s likely because of him. But what can he do? As always, what’s done is done. He has no right to ask him to stay, no more than he has any right to ask anything else of her.

He watches Yasha walk down the stairs, then begins his own descent, down to face the day.

 

**Author's Note:**

> THANK YOU to everyone who has kudos'd and commented thus far!!! I really didn't expect anyone to bite for this, and just...even watching the "hits" counter goes up makes me giddy...whether or not you feel compelled to give me some love is fine...that you clicked this fic and gave it a chance is more than enough for me! <3 
> 
> This is one of two or three (have not decided on that last piece) stand-alone-yet-connected one shot fics about Caleb and Yasha (hence the collection title). I've blocked and have started writing the second piece, titled "Found", which I hope to drop very soon. See you then? 
> 
> As always, let me know what you think...the good, the bad, the grammar. Thank you again for reading! I really appreciate every one of you!


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